


Heartbeat Melody

by SapphyreLily



Series: Human Circuitry [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Sci-Fi AU, look guys i wrote happy semishira for once, overuse of poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9919121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: "Let me listen to the music of your heart."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this fic is GREATLY inspired by Isabelle, Sam and Shazmin, THANKS FOR NEVER LETTING THE JOKE GO YOU ASSHATS
> 
> (This is based on a poster I have in my room with the words 'listen to the music of your heart' and the irony is that I don't listen to music and THEY HAVE NEVER LET THE JOKE GO SINCE THEN.)
> 
> (I'm kidding I still love them)

They lie together, quietly contemplative, the emptiness of the apartment echoing in their ears. It’s an odd ringing, reverberating despite the background noise, and he curls his arm around him a little more tightly.

His partner snuggles closer, resting his head against his chest, as if listening to the human beat of his heart. “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Let me listen to your heart.”

“Aren’t you already doing that?” He is amused, more so when he gets poked.

“I mean your music,” he huffs. “The music of your heart.”

It’s an odd request, because nobody knows what plays in their hearts, and it’s a little too intimate. But they have always been a little too intimate, a little too crossed-over, overlapping into each other's lives and breaths as if they were made to be extensions of the other.

(Ever since the day they met – broken and forgotten pieces, like pieces of a plant grafted onto another, nurturing and encouraging each other to grow.)

(Chipped puzzle pieces, sharp edges worn down by time, until they mesh together like they were meant to be.)

He stretches to the side and plucks an old-fashioned set of earpieces off the table, handing his partner the earbuds and plugging the jack into the port above his heart. He breathes around the discomfort, shifting so that he can still see his face, though it doesn’t do much for the protrusion in his chest.

His partner’s eyes are closed, the soft white of the light above them traipsing across streaks of copper, bright highlights in a sea of dull brown. There is a furrow in his brow, a tiny frown on his face, and though he is concentrating, he wants to swoop in and kiss him, a soft celebration of each of his qualities.

And the longer he watches, the more his face relaxes, smoothing out and dissolving into a state of calm contentment. He looks asleep, and he reaches a hand out to stroke his hair, a pastime he is much too addicted to.

“Eita, stop touching me.”

He rolls his eyes and withdraws his hand – but not before running his fingers through the soft hair a last time, marvelling at the silkiness of it, at the light dancing across the strands.

“Eitaaa.”

His frown is back, a tiny mock-upset thing, eyes half-shuttered to reveal a glare.

He shrugs, and after a second more of intense staring, his lids fall shut, lips twitching into the tiniest smile.

They lie in the silence, ringing in his ears and mind, their breathing slow and even.

He speaks after a long while, a gunshot in white space.

“Your heart is so angry.”

It takes a moment, but a red film crosses his vision, and his brows furrow. Oh, he’ll show him angry.

“But…”

His voice is quieter, more contemplative, more thoughtful.

“It’s also melancholy, and threaded with happiness – no, contentment. It’s peaceful.” He looks up, plucks an ear bud from his ear, eyes shimmering, lips gentle.

He may be part code and wiring, but his heart is human, and it skips a beat, stuttering out of rhythm with his unguarded confession. He is flustered, and he looks away.

“I want to hear yours.”

His partner wordlessly plucks the jack from his chest – ah, but what a relief, to not have a foreign object stuck between his ribs – and inserts it into his own, offering the earbuds like an extension of amity. He plucks them from his hand and slots them into his own ears, staring at his partner as he moves.

A fierce tune assaults him, bright and strong and bold, but he can hear its undercurrent, a tinkle of fragility and hope and desperate dreaming, and he smiles.

It’s so much like him.

But it _is_ his heartsong, after all.

He feels fingers lace with his own, and concentrates on the feel as well as the melody – he hears the jump, the trip, the stutter of shyness and the thrill of bliss where their skin meets, and his smile grows fond.

He may deny it, but he enjoys their time together a lot.

It makes him happy, to know that.

“I like yours. It’s defiant and headstrong–” the fingers between his squeeze tightly, like a reprimand “–but stubborn and persistent and _fierce_. It’s very you.”

He thinks he sees the other smile and blush a little – he can’t be sure – but the skip in his heart tells him all he needs to know.

“You’re such a sap.”

“Nah, this was your idea.”

“It was a good idea though.”

“Yes, but–”

“Shush. Do you have another set of earpieces? I want to listen again.”

He looks up at him with molten bronze, specked with copper flecks and ringed by lilac. They are wide and begging and hopeful, and though he knows that he has his own set, he reaches out and grabs his spare from the drawer.

“Go ahead.”

So they lie and they listen, staring into each other’s eyes, cocoa meeting bronze, sun-specks versus burning copper flecks. They contemplate each other, like a conversation is taking place, blinking every so often, heads bobbing slightly with the thrum of a heartsong.

(Not their own, never their own, but one that is close enough to the medley of emotions still considered human, still considered _love_ – one that holds both the promise of a past and the offering of a future. A whimsical dance, a light fluttering of lids, a murmur of words and the whisper of skin.)

(A being. Of starlight and disjointed circuitry, harshly interwoven with the curious beating of a human heart.)

(Something unknown, but something precious.)

(Something lost, and found again.)

If they drift into sleep – eyelids shuttering, vision fading out, music dropping like a stone – that’s okay, because they are side by side, fingers intertwined, a magic bubble, an isolated island of tranquillity; their own world.

They are together, exploring each other, appreciating their differences and fighting over their similarities, holding tight and letting go, but always, always leaving a trail, like the powder off a moth’s wings.

And if they follow the stardust long enough, they will find their treasure.


End file.
